Don't Go
by Kiana Maria
Summary: Claire's life as a teenager in Australia. She gets into astrology and Ouija boards, she's desperate for a father figure, she runs away with her boyfriend, she dyes her hair black and starts calling herself Raven, and then she gets pregnant.
1. Age 13

Claire stopped at the corner and adjusted her backpack on her shoulder. The wind blew strongly and small droplets of rain hit her skin. Her yellow hair, long and straight, whipped around her face.

"Oh my god, Henry Hunt kept _smiling_ at me at lunch today." The light changed, and she and Jocelyn crossed the intersection.

"So?" Jocelyn asked. "He's not...ugly."

"He's not cute, either."

"So, who do you think is cute? James Parkway?"

"James Parkway," she said at the same time.

"Of course," Jocelyn snickered. "You only like _older_ guys."

"What's wrong with that?"

They climbed the steps to the library's entrance and the automatic doors parted in front of them. The inside was carpeted and serene. Claire saw her mother behind the counter.

"Hello, girls," she said. "How was your day?"

"Boring," said Claire.

"Have a lot of homework?"

"Yes," they said in unison.

A man came to the counter with a large pile of books. Claire and Jocelyn crossed the floor to an empty table. They let their backpacks slide from their shoulders and sat down.

Leaning back, Jocelyn plucked a copy of _Seventeen_ from the magazine rack. "It's prom season," she said.

"In the States," said Claire. She unzipped her backpack and pulled out her math book.

"Oh, look," said Jocelyn. "I'm going to find true love this month. I'm an Aries."

"What does it say about Scorpio?"

"'If you are a Scorpio, James Parkway will – '"

"Give it," said Claire, laughing. She snatched the magazine from Jocelyn's hand. "'If you are a Scorpio, you will soon receive vital information,'" she read.

"Vital information about what?"

"It doesn't say."

"Those things are stupid, anyway."

"No, they're not. But magazines don't tell that much. There was a book that I..."

Pushing back her chair, she stood up and went to the nonfiction section. Wandering through the tall bookcases, she let her eyes scan the titles. _Horoscopes, 1994-1996, _she read. And then she saw another one: _Messages from Beyond. _She pulled it from the shelf and carried it back to the table.

"Ooh, spooky," Jocelyn said.

Claire turned the pages. "Do you know what necromancy is?" she asked.

"Do I know what what is?"

"Necromancy. It's when you contact a dead person and they tell you the future."

"Do dead people know the future?"

"Of course," she said. "They know everything."

She read a few pages. "Let's make a Ouija board," she said. She turned her head sideways to glance at her mum, and saw that she was busy at a computer. "I want to contact my father."

"Your father's dead?"

"Shhh." Claire looked at her mum again. Then, she told Jocelyn, "He died when I was two. My mum won't talk about him."

Suddenly, she stood up and gathered her books and her backpack into her arms. "Let's go in the other room."

The Reference Room was empty except for shelves of encyclopedias and dictionaries. Claire walked to the back corner and sat down on the carpet. Jocelyn sat in front of her.

"I don't even know what his name was," Claire said. "My mum changes the subject every time I try to ask her, and my aunt gets really mad and says I wouldn't want to have known him anyway."

"How do you make a Ouija board?"

"You just tear up scraps of paper, and..." She pulled a notebook out of her backpack and tore out a sheet of blank paper. She found a pen and wrote each letter of the alphabet. She tore them out and placed them on the carpet, between her and Jocelyn's folded legs.

"What do we use for a pointer?"

"Anything," Claire said. "This." She pulled the cap off her pen and set it on the floor.

"Claire's father," Jocelyn said in a low, spooky voice. "What's to become of us?"

"Be serious," Claire said. She placed her fingers lightly on the pen cap and Jocelyn copied.

"Don't push it. Just let it move."

She closed her eyes.

"What's your name?" she asked aloud.

She opened her eyes, and the pen cap moved.

"You're pushing it," said Jocelyn.

"No, I'm not."

It moved to the letter A. Then I, and then R. "Air," she said.

PLANE. "Airplane."

"Your dad's name is Airplane – "

"Shh."

ARRIVESREADY –

"Airplane arrives ready."

The pen cap moved again. ORNOT. And then it stopped.

"Airplane arrives ready or not," said Jocelyn. "That's weird."

Claire turned to a blank page in her notebook and found her pen.

_Airplane_

_Arrives_

_Ready_

_Or_

_Not_

* * *

She woke up. Her room was dark. The curtains were open and she saw the full moon. She thought that her dream was real and her room was a dream. When she sat up, she felt a wetness between her legs. She leapt out of bed and switched on the light. A dark circle of blood covered her sheets, and her pajamas were soaked. She walked across the hall to her mum's room. The door was open and her mum was asleep.

Back in her room, she pulled the sheets off the bed. She carried them down the hall and across the kitchen and threw them into the washing machine. She went back to her room and closed the door. She pulled off her clothes and found another nightgown and a pair of underwear. She stuffed a handful of Kleenex between her legs and lay down.

* * *

_April 2, 1995 _

_Dear Diary, _

_Last night I started my period. Jocelyn said I was a late bloomer. Thirteen is kinda late, I guess. It's really weird. I haven't told Mum yet. I don't really know why._


	2. Age 15

Outside, it rained. Inside, the halls were dark and crowded. Claire carried her books through a doorway and sat down beside Logan, in front of the teacher's desk. The wind increased and rain drops beat against the windows.

"Sounds like seagulls," Claire said, as the bell rang and Mr. Cannon walked around his desk and sat down.

"Seagulls?" Logan asked.

She nodded. "When it doesn't rain for a long time, they stamp their feet so that the worms will think it's raining and they'll come to the surface."

"Where did you learn that?" Mr. Cannon asked.

"I watch a lot of nature programs with my mum."

"So instead of thinking seagulls sound like rain, rain reminds you of seagulls," said Logan.

"Well, she's not a worm," said Mr. Cannon, and Claire smiled.

* * *

_February 21, 1997_

_Dear Diary, _

_My marks came today. I got a D in phys. ed. (because Miss Ainsley hates me and I hate her too), Bs in everything else, and an A in biology. I think less than my I.Q. or how hard I work, the important thing is the rapport I have with my teacher. Some you just get and some are so weird. Mr. Cannon and I get each other, which is why I always do so well in his class. _

* * *

Claire stood in the kitchen and screwed open a jar of peanut butter. She held it to her face and breathed in its aroma. She stuck a knife into it and spread it onto three slices of bread. She smashed the slices together and carried her plate into the living room.

"Keep those crumbs off the carpet," her mum said, as Claire sat on the floor in front of the coffee table. On the telly, a giant huntsman spider ran across a cave floor.

"Did you know it's actually incorrect to call snakes and spiders 'poisonous'?" Claire asked.

"What do you call them, then?"

"'Venomous.' Mr. Cannon said that's the right word."

"'Mr. Cannon, Mr. Cannon,'" her mum said, laughing.

* * *

_March 1, 1997 _

_Dear Diary, _

_I know this is ridiculous but I keep having this fantasy that Mr. Cannon and my mum get married so that he becomes my father. I guess it's normal for someone who never knew her father to have thoughts like that, though._

* * *

"I'm sorry, Claire, I thought you might have missed one."

Mr. Cannon smiled as Claire laid her paper on the stack on his desk. Her eyes lowered and she bashfully grinned. Weaving between Lizzie Webster and Delia Jackson, she made her way back to her seat.

The bell rang, and she gathered her books. She and Logan walked out into the hall and to the nearest staircase.

"Some rough test, eh?" Logan asked.

"Was it?" she said.

"Well, not for you, of course," he said, grasping the stair rail. "Do you always get hundreds?"

"In biology, yeah."

"See you later."

She waved goodbye and walked into her next class and sat down. The bell rang, and Mr. Mason passed out the day's assignment. Claire found her pen and screwed off the cap. On the line at the top of her paper: _Claire C_

Oh, what had she done? She wrote an L over the C, digging hard to cover the letter. _Claire Littleton_. Oops.

* * *

_March 14, 1997 _

_Dear Diary, _

_I found out about this thing called "Bible dipping." But you don't have to use a Bible, it can be any book. You ask a question, then open the book to a random page and interpret what you read as the answer. I was at the library today, so I picked up a copy of I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings and asked, "What's the most important thing that will ever happen in my life?" I opened the book and read this sentence: "I was falling in the sky." I still don't know what that means. _

* * *

Claire sat in her desk in biology. The bell hadn't rung, and everyone was talking and moving about.

"In theater, Mrs. Kendall's giving us our roles," Logan told her.

"Are you up for Hamlet?"

"I tried out for him. If I don't get him, I'll...I don't know what."

"God, you're such a Leo," she laughed.

"You don't really believe that rubbish, do you?" asked Mr. Cannon from his desk.

"Of course," Claire said. "I'm a Scorpio, and Scorpios are always deep and intense and passionate, and that's what I'm like."

"But you're also a million other things."

"Well, you're...are you a Virgo?"

He laughed. "I am, actually."

"I knew it! Neat, organized, practical, caring..."

* * *

_March 23, 1997 _

_Dear Diary, _

_Well, I've totally embarrassed myself. In biology Mr. Cannon mentioned that he's going to be a grandfather soon. His daughter, Erin, is pregnant. He said that she and her husband live in South Africa. For some reason, I was really upset when he talked about it. Lately I've been fantasizing that he actually lives in my house, that he's actually my father, and in my mind I've been calling him Dad. I really don't like the idea of him having a wife who's not Mum and a daughter who's not me. Which I know is crazy. So today I asked him something and I accidentally said, "Da..." I didn't quite say the whole word. Logan laughed at me and Mr. Cannon kind of smiled. I can only hope that he found it endearing. _

* * *

"Littleton!"

Her head spun around to face Miss Ainsley.

"Tuck that shirt in!"

She stuck the hem of her T-shirt into the waistband of her shorts and the ball came flying over the net. It landed at her feet and bounced away. Miss Ainsley marched to her side. "You're supposed to _pass_ the ball, miss! Not let it bounce off your foot!"

"I was..."

Miss Ainsley's whistle blew and Claire held one hand to her ear. "Rotate!"

Everyone moved to a different position. Miss Ainsley picked up the ball and bounced it to Delia. She served and the ball flew over Claire's head. She heard it collide with someone's hand and turned her head and the ball rocketed into her face.

"Oh!" she gasped.

"Littleton!" shouted Miss Ainsley.

Claire held her hand to her face. Everyone was silent as they watched her run across the gym floor and through the doorway.

In the hall, she ran a few feet to the drinking fountain. The water was cold and she splashed some onto her cheek. Her hair hung into her eyes and she gasped for breath.

Footsteps came around the corner and someone stood beside her. "What happened?"

"The volleyball," she said. "I got hit right in the face."

Mr. Cannon pushed her hair behind her shoulder. "It's red," he said. He held her face in his hand and rubbed his thumb over the bruise.

"I'm going to have a big purple mark on my face tomorrow."

"You need to put ice on it... Let's go to the teachers' room."

She followed him down the hall and he held open a door. Claire walked inside and saw a small kitchen and a couch and two chairs.

Mr. Cannon walked to the mini-fridge and filled a hand towel with ice cubes. He held the towel to her cheek and Claire laid her hand on top of his.

* * *

_April 8, 1997 _

_Dear Diary, _

_I miss my father so much. Lately I've been going to talk to Mr. Cannon every day for a while after school. Just to discuss things and help him organize his room and things like that. _

* * *

She walked through the doorway and stopped. A woman sat at Mr. Cannon's desk. Claire sat down beside Logan. Something looked weird. The calendar was off the wall and there was nothing on the teacher's desk. "Where's Mr. Cannon?" she asked.

"I'm Miss Shea," the woman said. "What's your name?"

"Where's Mr. Cannon?"

"He's gone to teach in South Africa."

She gasped.

"Yes," Miss Shea said. "He wanted to be closer to his family."

Claire looked at Logan. She tried clearing her throat. She grabbed her purse and jumped out of her seat.

She ran down the hall and around a corner. The hall ended at a window. She looked down at the parking lot. Pressing her cheek against the cold glass, she saw a seagull fly away.


	3. Age 17

When Claire saw his car her body filled with excitement. She carried her books across the crowded walkway to the edge of the parking lot. When he was close enough, the car slowed and she opened the door and sat down inside.

Sun shone brightly into the windows. She leaned sideways and grasped the back of his neck in her hand. His brown hair hung into his face. They pressed their lips together and kissed.

She opened her eyes again.

"Looks like we have an audience," said Graham.

She looked through the windshield and saw that all eyes were on her. As he drove out of the parking lot and turned onto the street, she opened a notebook.

"Listen," she said. "I found this today. It's Emily Bronte: 'Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.'"

"That's poetic."

"What'd you do today?'

"Went to work. What do you think I did?"

"Let's stop somewhere," she said.

He drove through several city blocks to an outdoor restaurant and pulled up at the curb. Claire left her books in the car and held Graham's hand as they walked across cobblestones.

They stood in line in front of a window.

"Are you hungry?" she asked.

"Yeah, I haven't eaten."

She wrapped her arms around his neck and leaned forward, letting him support her weight.

"Have something healthy," she whispered.

"One of your soy burgers?"

"At least eat some fruit or something."

Graham's eyes wandered over her shoulder.

"Claire?" a voice asked.

She turned her head. "Aunt Lindsey." She stood straight, leaning away from her boyfriend. "What are you..."

Lindsey looked at Graham. "How old are you?" she asked.

Graham chuckled.

"How old are you?" she repeated.

"He's twenty-five," Claire said. "But what - "

"Does your mother know about this?" Lindsey demanded, and the people in line ahead of them turned to look.

"Let's just go," Claire said, taking Graham's hand.

"Claire!" Lindsey called after her, as she walked back to the car. "Claire, you tell him to take you straight home!"

* * *

Claire lay on the sofa, watching the telly. The sky was dark and her homework was spread on the coffee table. Headlights shone through the windows and she heard the car pull into the driveway. The motor silenced and the car door opened and shut.

Her mother walked in. She put down her purse and closed the door.

"Your Aunt Lindsey called me today."

"Of course she did."

Her mum clicked off the telly and Claire sat up.

"How long has this been going on?" she said. "And where did you meet him?"

"Mum - "

"Did you tell him you're only seventeen?"

"Yes, Mum, of course - "

"What kind of man would keep company with a seventeen-year-old girl?"

"'Keep company,'" Claire said, standing up. "You sound like you're - "

"Where did you meet him?"

"It's none of your business." She started down the hall and her mother grabbed her arm.

"If you think this is going to continue...do you know what he's going to expect of you?"

Claire spun around. "What, Mum? What is he going to _expect_ of me?"

"Claire, there is a whole world out there that you know nothing about - "

"I know _something_ about it," she muttered.

Her mother looked at her. "What do you mean?" she asked. "Have you been - "

"It's none of your business if we have!"

She ran into her room and slammed the door.

* * *

She climbed the outdoor staircase to Graham's apartment. She let herself in and saw him on the phone. She walked to his side and he wrapped his arm around her and kissed the top of her head.

"That was Keith Lowery," he said, hanging up the phone. "You know that band he got together?"

"Mm-hmm."

"They've actually got a contract."

"Wow."

"They're going to Brisbane."

"Oh."

"And they need me to go with them."

She stepped out of his grasp. "Why?"

"'Cause they need a tech to take care of all the equipment."

"But you're not going," she said. "You're not leaving..."

"It's a better job than what I have now."

"But..." She tried to talk and tears fell from her eyes. "What about me, what...what about us?"

"Claire - "

"Don't you love me?"

He walked across the room and sat down. "I've told you I love you."

She ran to the bathroom and came back. "But you can't leave!" she shouted. "You can't just leave me!"

"Claire...it doesn't mean we'll never see each other again. Long-distance relationships can work."

She looked at him and cried. He crossed the room to her and held her shoulders. "We'll still have holidays," he said. "And phone calls."

"Holidays and phone calls," she repeated. "That's not enough when you love someone."

"Claire -"

"Call him back!" she said, pointing at the phone. "Call him back and tell him that you're not going!"

"No," he said. "I'm not going to stay here doing this stupid little job for the rest of my life."

"And you're not going to stay here with your_ stupid_ little girlfriend?"

She pulled open the front door.

"Claire," he said. "Claire, don't go -"

She left and slammed the door.

* * *

She walked down the sidewalk, crying. When she arrived home she saw that her mother's car was gone. She went inside and to her bedroom.

The clock ticked and she lay in the dark, her face smashed into a pillow. She rolled out of bed and went to the window. When she pulled the curtain back the day was still sunny and bright. She crossed the hall to her mother's empty bedroom and saw a paperback Bible on the dresser.

"What should I do?" she asked aloud. "What should I do?"

She opened the Bible to a random page.

_Wherever you go, I will go. _

_Wherever you live, I will live. _

_Your people shall be my people,_

_And your God my God. _

_Where you die, I will die, _

_And there I will be buried. _

* * *

Graham opened the door. Claire walked past him into his apartment and set down her suitcase. "I'm going with you," she said.

"What about school?" he said. "What about your mum?"

"I don't care." She went to him and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. "I don't care about anything else."

* * *

Her books were school property, so she left them stacked neatly on the shelf. With an arm full of notebooks and folders she closed her locker door. She pulled off the combination lock and dropped it into the nearest trash can.

Through the crowd, she saw Logan descending the stairs.

"Hey," he said. "Is Graham picking you up?"

She nodded. Then she laid her things on the windowsill and hugged him, closing her eyes against his shoulder.

He laughed. "Why so affectionate?"

"I just want you to know that I really care about you. And I'll always remember that you were my best friend."

"Okay," he said. "Is something going on?"

"I have to go," she said. "Graham's waiting."

Outside, she saw his car. Her hair flew in the wind as she walked across the pavement and sat down inside.

"Ready to go?" he asked.

"Mm-hmm." She turned around and saw suitcases piled in the back seat. "Where are the tickets?"

"In the glove box," he said.

* * *

They sat in the airport and Claire looked at her watch. "My mum's off work."

"We've got half-an-hour."

"Maybe I should wait till we get there."

"You're going to have to do it sooner or later."

A row of phoneboxes covered one wall. Claire walked across the floor and tucked herself inside one. She laid her hand on the receiver. She dug into her purse for change. Taking a breath, she picked up the receiver and dropped money into the phone.

It rang and was immediately answered. "Mum," Claire said. "Mum, I'm leaving with Graham."

"Leaving! What do you mean you're _leaving_?"

"We're going to Brisbane," she said. "He -"

"Brisbane!" she shouted. "Brisbane! What about school?"

"Mum," she said. "This is the right thing, trust me. It feels right to me. I -"

Graham was beside her, holding her bag. "Time to go," he said.

"Mum, I have to go. The plane's leaving. I -"

"Claire! Claire, just wait there and I'll come and get you -"

"I love you, Mum," she said, and hung up the phone. Stepping out of the phonebox, she took Graham's hand and walked towards the departure gates.

* * *

When the plane landed, they took a bus to the hotel. It was more grand than anything Claire had ever seen, and a bellboy carried their suitcases into the room. Graham gave him a tip and Claire lay down on the bed.

"I have to go see Keith," Graham said, zipping his coat.

"Can't it wait?" she asked.

He walked to the bed, leaned across her, and kissed her mouth. "I won't be gone long."

He stood up again, and Claire watched him leave. She lay in one place, resting and thinking. Then she rolled onto her stomach. She pulled open the drawer under the bedside table and found a Bible. She picked it up and asked, "What does our future hold?"

She opened the Bible and read: _Take thou unto thee Aaron thy brother, and his sons with him, from among the children of Israel..._

Well, that told her nothing. She put the Bible back in the drawer. She didn't need it, anyway. She was with Graham, and that was all she needed to know.

* * *

_April 15, 1999 _

_Dear Diary, _

_Graham's gone most of the day, and I'm here by myself. The hotel has a pool, and I go for walks sometimes. I really miss Sydney, and Mum, and, well, everything. When Graham isn't here at night I can't stand it and I just cry. But I know this was the right decision. I don't regret it. _

* * *

The room was dark, and the curtains were open. Moonlight shone through the window. Claire walked up and down the carpet. When she heard the lock turn she rushed to the door.

"Where've you been?" she gasped. "Where've you been?"

"I've been at work," Graham said. "Where do you think I've been?"

She grabbed him with both arms and leaned into his chest, crying. "I can't stand it," she sobbed. "I can't stand it anymore."

He held her arms. "Claire," he said, "maybe this was a bad idea."

He flicked on the light. She stood away from him.

"We weren't really thinking, were we?" Graham said. "We weren't thinking of the future."

"You're the only future I need."

He sat down on the bed. "We both know that isn't true."

* * *

The cab drove down the street. "This is it," Claire said, and the driver stopped.

"Eight dollars, fifteen cents," he said.

She put money into his hand and opened the cab door. Pulling her suitcase and her duffle bag out of the back seat, she saw that the car was in the driveway.

The cab drove away and Claire crossed the front yard. She left her suitcase on the porch and opened the front door. When she stepped inside, her mother stood before her.

"I'm home, Mum," she said, and tears came into her eyes.

Her mother stepped towards her, and slapped her across the face.


	4. Age 19

Claire stepped out of the shower and looked in the mirror. Her black hair hung wet to her shoulders. Her blue-green eyes shone iridescently. She heard the front door and wrapped a towel around her body.

Stepping out of the bathroom, she saw Rachel at the front door.

"Wow," she said, setting down her purse. "You look all gothed-out."

"That's what I'm going for."

"Is it permanent?"

"It's a semi-permanent rinse."

Back in the bathroom, she opened a compact and covered her skin with pale white powder. She circled her eyes with black liner. "Morticia," she said to herself, and laughed.

* * *

Early Monday morning, the mall was quiet. A woman pushed a baby carriage past the window. Claire sat behind the counter with Hope. The walls were painted henna red and covered with tattoo options on sheets of parchment paper.

"Can my nametag say 'Raven'?" she asked. "It's sort of a nickname."

"Raven," said Hope. "Who gave it to you?"

"I gave it to myself."

Black rubber bracelets covered her wrists, a dog chain wrapped around her throat, and she wore all black. The bell over the door rang and a girl walked in with her boyfriend.

"G'day," Hope said. "Can I help you?"

"Yeah, I want a tattoo."

"All right." Hope stood up. "Come into the back room."

Claire stood and followed them through the beaded doorway. The girl lay down on the table and her boyfriend sat in a chair.

"I'm Hope, and this is Raven. Raven's going to do your ink."

Claire looked at Hope.

"Do you know what you want?"

"Yeah," said the girl. "My boyfriend's name with a heart around it. Aaron."

"Aaron?" Claire asked. "A-A-R-O-N?"

"Yes," said the girl.

"Be right back," said Hope.

Claire followed Hope through another beaded doorway into the supply room. "Don't worry," Hope whispered. "You're ready."

* * *

She stood at a payphone near the mall entrance with her purse on her arm. The phone rang and her mother answered.

"Mum?" she said. "Mum, can I borrow the car tonight?"

"Why?" she asked. "I have to work."

"Can I drop you off? Rachel got tickets to see some band."

"How will I get home?"

"I'll pick you up," she said. "It's not like I'm going to be out all night."

"If you're sure you'll be on time -"

"I'll be on _time_," she said, and hung up.

* * *

She stepped off the bus and walked down the sidewalk and around the block. She looked at her watch and walked up the path to the front door.

She found her mother in the bathroom, in her sweatpants, pulling rollers out of her hair.

"Mum!" she shouted. "You're not ready yet?"

"I don't have to be there for an hour -"

"But I have to go!" Claire said.

"What time does the concert start?"

"8:15," she said. "But I have to pick up Rachel and it's a long drive."

"Well, just give me a minute."

Claire went into the living room and sat down on the couch. She looked at her watch and her knees bobbed up and down.

"Almost ready," her mother said, walking through the living room to the hall. Claire went out to the car.

* * *

"Can you drive in those things?" she said, looking at Claire's knee-high pole-jumper boots.

"Yes, Mum," she groaned, and got into the car.

On the road, they didn't speak. Then her mother looked out the window. "Oh god, there's Dorothy Adkins," she said. She turned away from the window as they drove by. "I guess she's going to tell everyone she saw you like this."

"Like _what_, Mum?"

She didn't answer.

"It's _my_ hair, Mum," Claire shouted. "I wish you would just...stay out of my life. That's really the only problem I've ever had."

"That's why you work at a tattoo parlor, is it? Because I won't stay out of your life?"

"There's nothing wrong with my work," she said. She pressed the gas pedal harder. "It's _art_. Why can't you ever respect anything I do?"

"Slow down," she said. She grabbed Claire's arm and Claire shook off her hand.

She sped down the road, through a yellow light, and her anger increased. "You know, Rachel actually has a good relationship with her mum," she said. "I'm actually jealous of them."

"Claire, slow -"

"I hate you!" she shouted. "I wish you weren't my mother! I wish you were de -"

The truck was upon them. Then Claire opened her eyes. She sat up and the noise of the horn silenced. The car was still. The windshield was broken into millions of little shards. Her mother was gone.

Her left arm sat at an odd angle on the steering wheel. She saw it but couldn't feel it. With her right hand, she moved her left arm to her side. Then, she saw her mother in the middle of the street. She lay in a strangely twisted way. Her blonde hair was caked with red.

Claire unsnapped her seatbelt and pulled at the door handle. It wouldn't open, and she leaned sideways to try the other door. It was stuck. She pulled herself over the dashboard and through the hole that had been a windshield. Her left arm dangled lifelessly and she crawled across the car to the ground.

A crowd had gathered and all the traffic had stopped. Claire rushed to her mother. She pulled her onto her back. "Mum!" she cried. "Mum!"

* * *

She sat on a hospital bed. Her left arm was in a cast, and stitches were in her forehead. She wore a hospital gown and her pale legs and bare feet stretched in front of her.

Someone stepped into the room. She saw his gun and then she heard his voice.

"Miss Littleton, I'm Officer Barnes. Sorry to bother you, but I need to ask you a few questions."

He held a pen and a clipboard in his hands. "Can I ask you how the accident happened?"

"A truck forced us off the road," she said.

"Okay...who was driving?"

"Me."

"Has anyone contacted your father?"

"My father died when I was two."

"Sorry to hear that...I spoke to the truck driver - he's fine, by the way. He said that when you hit him -"

"No, _he_ hit us."

"At about what speed would you say you were -"

"It just came out of nowhere. I -"

"That's not the question I asked, Miss Littleton."

"I...I don't know how fast I was driving...why are you even asking me these questions?"

"These questions are standard procedure when there's a fatality."

Claire looked at him. "My mother is in _surgery_. She's not dead."

"Right. So she is." He turned to leave the room.

"This is not my fault!" she shouted.

He paused in the doorway. "I didn't say it was. Good day, Miss Littleton."

* * *

She stepped out of the shower and looked in the mirror. Her forehead was an array of colors ranging from bright red to yellow to dark purple. The gash in the center of the bruising was sewn together.

She ripped the plastic shopping bag and masking tape off of her cast. With one arm, she rubbed a towel over her body and pulled on her clothes. She found her purse and left the apartment.

The day was sunny and she walked to the bus stop. The bus stopped in front of her and its doors opened. When she climbed up the stairs, the bus driver gasped.

"Good god," he said. "What happened to you?"

Claire dropped coins into the slot and walked to a back seat.

* * *

The elevator doors opened and she stepped onto the fifth floor. The walls were grey and every few feet she saw a print of yellow roses. Without words, she wished the hospital wouldn't put up those pictures and pretend that it was a cheerful place.

At the end of the hall, she walked into the room and saw her mother flat on a bed. A machine was breathing, not her.

"Where were you?"

Claire looked to her left. "I went home to take a shower."

"Oh," Aunt Lindsey said. "That must have been nice."

"They said she was still in surgery. I had glass in my hair, Aunt Lindsey."

"Well, I'm glad that you're feeling refreshed."

A doctor stepped into the room. "Afternoon," he said. "Are you the daughter?"

Claire nodded.

"I'm Dr. Woodruff from Neurosurgery. I'll be observing your mother for the next few days."

"How is she?" Lindsey asked.

"We managed to stabilize her immediate injuries, but..." He looked at Claire. "Your mother suffered a severe head trauma. We'll have to wait for the swelling in her brain to go down before we can determine the full extent of her injuries, but I'm afraid we're looking at fairly widespread damage."

"What does that mean?" Claire asked.

"It means that right now, these machines are sustaining her life."

"But it won't always be... I mean, when she wakes up, she'll -"

"I can't say with any real confidence that she will wake up."

Claire sat in the chair beside the bed. "Can she hear us?"

Dr. Woodruff said, "I like to think that she can."

"How long will she be like this?" Lindsey asked.

"Could be a day, a week, or years. We'll just have to wait and see."

Lindsey nodded.

"But I can assure you," said the doctor, "she'll be well looked-after."

"That's very nice," Lindsey said. "But we can't pay for -"

"Don't worry," he said. "Her expenses have already been taken care of."

Lindsey looked at Claire and Claire looked at the doctor. "By who?" Lindsey asked.

"I've been asked to keep that confidential. G'day," he said, leaving the room.

* * *

Claire woke up and saw the clock. First she thought, "Oh god, I'm late for work." Then remembered that she wasn't going to work. She was going to the hospital.

She took the bus and rode the elevator up to the fifth floor. She walked down the hall to her mother's room.

A grey-haired man in a suit stood over the bed.

"Excuse me," Claire said, setting down her coffee.

He turned and looked at her.

"Are you a doctor?" she asked.

"Yes, um..."

Aunt Lindsey walked into the room and stopped when she saw him. "_What_ are you doing here?" she shouted.

"I was just on my way out, Lindsey -"

"If Carole knew you were here -"

"She'd what?" he asked. "What would she do? She wouldn't be acting the way you are."

"Aunt Lindsey," Claire said. "What's going on here? Who is he?"

"It doesn't matter." She looked at the doctor. "Just go."

"Maybe you should tell her," he said. "She deserves to know."

"Please just leave us alone."

"You are not the arbiter here," he shouted.

"You are taking advantage of my -"

"She has every right to know -"

"Just stop it!" Claire shouted. Then, to the doctor, "Are you the one paying the bills? Are you the one taking care of all this?"

"Yes," he said.

"Then who are you?"

"I'm your father, Claire."

* * *

Early Saturday morning, she stepped into the shop and saw Hope walk through the beaded curtain. "Claire?" she asked, walking towards her. "Are you sure you can work today?"

"I'll be all right," she said. Hope looked at her broken arm and the Band-Aid on her forehead. "You sure?" she asked.

She nodded. "I'm fine."

She went to the back room to put down her bag. When she passed back through the beaded doorway a girl had walked into the shop. "Hey," she said. "I'd like a piercing."

"All right," Claire said, walking to a stool in the corner of the room. "Right this way."

The girl looked at her cast.

"Don't worry," Claire said. "I've done this a hundred times."

She only wanted one, a fourth piercing in her left ear. Claire heard the bell ring above the door. "I'll be with you in a sec," she called, and punched a diamond stud into the girl's ear.

"There you go," she said. "That'll be ten bucks."

She turned and looked over the counter. There he stood. She walked to him. "What are you doing here?"

"Can I buy you a cup of coffee?"

"I have nothing to say to you."

"Claire," he said. "I'm leaving tonight, and I'll be out of your life forever. Just one cup of coffee."

She looked down at the counter, and then at the clock. "My lunch break's not till noon," she said.

"Can I meet you here at noon, then?"

She nodded, and he left.

* * *

They sat at a table in the food court. "Why does your name tag say 'Raven'?" he asked.

"It's my nickname."

"Is your hair still blonde? Naturally?"

"Yes...look," she said. "My mother always told me that my father died."

"That's what she wanted you to think. She thought it would be easier for you."

"You're American?"

"Yes," he said. "I live in Los Angeles."

"And that's where you met my mum."

He nodded. "I was married...I'm still married."

"So it was an affair."

He nodded.

"Did your wife ever find out about it?"

"Yes," he said. "She knew about the affair, but -"

"But not about me."

She sipped her coffee. "How did you find out about the accident?"

"A doctor friend here in Sydney told me. I got a call the minute she went into surgery."

Claire pulled at the rubber bracelets on her wrist. "Why did she tell me that you're dead?"

He smiled. "No doubt because I left her with so many wonderful memories.

"Look," he said, "we had a fling. She told me that she was pregnant, that she was going to have the baby, have you -"

"And you didn't want to see me?"

"No, no, I came out...a bunch of times, when you were little. I stayed over, I gave you toys, I sang to you..."

"Why'd you stop coming?"

"Because your aunt hates me, and your mother didn't like the fact that I had another family."

"Why are you here now, then? You could have just paid the bills from the States."

"I came over because I wanted to help."

"Help with what?"

"Claire," he said, leaning forward, "your mother is alive, but she's not really living."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"It means that now may be the time to look at other alternatives, other ways to relieve her pain. It is illegal to turn off her machines, but I know of ways that can achieve the same effect without the legal consequence -"

"Just stop it!" she shouted. "You didn't come here to help me. You came here to try to fix a mistake that you -"

"No, honey, that's not true."

"You think that just paying her bills makes you noble or something? You came down here to try to get me to kill her."

Some people walking past looked at them and kept walking.

"Just go," she said, standing up. "Just go and go back to your _real_ family."

She threw her cup into a bin and turned back around.

"You know," she said, "you might be my father, but I don't even know your name. And I want it to stay that way."

He stood up and grabbed her right arm.

"Claire," he said. "Claire, listen to me. Do not keep your mother alive for the wrong reasons. Now there is _hope_, and there is guilt, and believe me, I know the difference."

She pulled her arm out of his grasp and walked away.


	5. Age 21

_September 30, 2003_

_Dear Diary,_

_Rachel dragged me to this party. She insists that I get out from time to time. I met this guy named Thomas. I was standing in front of the air conditioner, and he said, "Do you think we need the air on in here?" and I said, "Not unless you think we need the air on in here." Really romantic, right? He's an Aquarius, and he's an artist. I had to tell him that I work at Fish'n'Fry and I sleep on Rachel's couch. We exchanged numbers but I don't expect anything._

* * *

_October 1, 2003_

_Dear Diary,_

_Thomas actually called. It didn't go very well. We talked for a while, and there would be these lengthy silences. He invited me to some art thing, and I made the mistake of telling Rachel about it, and she's going to insist that I go. The worst thing about Mum is people thinking they can help me or save me or something. No one understands that it's my own private thing to deal with. And when people say, "Don't give up hope." That's the worst._

* * *

_October 7, 2003_

_Dear Diary,_

_I went to that thing with Thomas. I actually thought I knew something about art until I met all these people who actually know something about art. It was a really wonderful opportunity for me to feel very stupid. But afterwards Thomas walked me home and we held hands and talked. He told me he loves blonde hair, and he didn't believe me when I said I used to dye it black._

* * *

_October 8, 2003_

_Dear Diary,_

_Thomas called today, and we had a nice conversation. Rachel and I went shopping. I didn't buy anything. I feel so guilty experiencing any pleasure. I guess it's my way of punishing myself and it's ridiculous and even cowardly. I probably need therapy but I don't deserve happiness._

* * *

_October 27, 2003_

_Dear Diary,_

_I'm 22. Rachel baked a cake, and Thomas came over. Rachel said she had to go somewhere (complete lie; she just wanted us to spend time alone). I told him what happened to Mum and about my father. How I always had this memory of him singing to me, and actually meeting him seems to have wiped that memory away._

* * *

_December 25, 2003_

_Dear Diary,_

_How long has it been since I've written? I'm at Mum's bedside now. I just finished reading A Christmas Carol to her._

* * *

_December 31, 2003_

_Dear Diary,_

_Thomas and I went to Sasha and Victoria's party. We kissed under the mistletoe, and then we spent the night at his apartment._

* * *

_January 2, 2004_

_Dear Diary,_

_I went to the doctor today. She gave me a prescription for birth control pills. Then I walked all the way home, in the heat, just to punish myself._

* * *

Claire opened the bathroom door and Thomas stood in front of her. "Is it pink?"

She walked past him. "I don't know yet."

"Did you actually pee on it?"

"Mm-hmm. Just give me a second."

He followed her across the room. "Maybe you didn't do it right."

"Thomas, I can pee on a stick."

"Well, what color is it?"

"How long has it been?"

He looked at his watch. "Sixty-six seconds." He took the test out of her hand. "Okay, there's definitely two lines."

"Two pink lines?"

"Pink? No, no, these are like red -"

She looked at the test and started to cry. "Thomas, they're pink. They're pink."

"All right," he said, "first of all, these tests are not always accurate -"

"Thomas -"

"This thing, it doesn't mean for sure that you're pregnant. We could go get another one -"

"Thomas, I am _six weeks_ late, okay? _Six weeks_. That never happens. I'm pregnant."

"Okay," he said. "Okay. Look, it's all going to be okay."

"I know. I know." The bed was a mess and she straightened the pillows and pulled the sheets into place.

"Hey, Claire," he said. "You know, if we wanted to, we could do this."

He stood with his hands in his pockets, smiling bashfully.

"Stop it," she said.

"I'm not kidding."

"With what, my five dollar-an-hour job at Fish'n'Fry?" She sat down on the bed.

"You're not the only one with a job," said Thomas. "I've got my painting."

"That's sweet," she said, wiping tears from her face. "But this isn't what we want."

"Maybe it is." He sat down next to her. "This could be like, the best thing ever."

"You'd really want to?"

"Yeah." He kissed her hand. "Claire, I love you."

* * *

_February 20, 2004 _

_Dear Diary,_

_Thomas cleaned out his whole loft, I'm officially moving in on Tuesday. I guess it hasn't really sunk in that I'm going to be a mother. I miss Mum. _

* * *

_February 21, 2004_

_Dear Diary, _

_You're not going to believe what I did today. Rachel took me to see this psychic. We went to his house and I sat across from him and he took my hands in his. He knew that I'm pregnant. It was so strange. He got this really ominous look on his face and then he said that he wouldn't tell me anything. He gave me my money back ($200!). Then he told us to leave. I can't get his voice out of my mind._

* * *

She pulled a chair to the window and climbed onto it with a lacey white drape in her hand. She steadied herself. The door opened and Thomas walked in. "Wow," he said. "We have drapes now."

"I know. I feel all grown up...you like them?"

"Yeah," he said, taking off his coat. "They're good."

"I don't know why drapes represent age for me," she said. "It just feels like something my mum would do.

"Oh, Sasha called," she said, climbing down from the chair with one hand on her stomach. "They're going out tonight. He wanted to know if we'd go."

"Claire," he said, looking at her body. "I can't do this."

"Do what?" she asked.

His eyes didn't leave her stomach. "This isn't working. You knew that."

"I what?"

He crossed the room and looked out the window.

"Just so I'm not overreacting here," she said, "are you breaking up with me?"

"Well, for the past three months, there's just...always some plan, some responsibility..."

"Well, yeah, I'm trying to make sure that when the baby comes -"

He turned around. "The baby? That is just not...if it's like this now, what's it going to be like when the baby comes?"

"But you_ said_ we should do this."

He sat down. "Yeah, well, now it's real."

"You can't just change your mind -"

"How the hell am I supposed to be a dad, Claire? How about my painting,_ my_ life?"

"I _knew_ this was going to happen," she said, and tears ran down her face.

"Perfect. Now I get all your daddy-abandonment crap."

"Hey, you bastard, don't you dare try to justify what you're doing -"

"I have done nothing!" he shouted, standing up.

"What, and I _have_?"

"You don't think I've seen what you've done? You were supposed to be on the pill."

She looked at him. "You think I got pregnant on _purpose_? Or that this was some kind of _plan_?"

He grabbed his coat. "I don't even care."

"You are out of your mind!"

He pulled open the door. "It's over, Claire!"

"No, it's not over! Thomas!"

He slammed the door behind him.

* * *

_May 1, 2004 _

_Dear Diary, _

_Rachel said I can sue Thomas for child support if I have to. But how would I even pay for a lawyer? And what kind of way is that to bring a baby into the world? Twenty years from now: "My mum had to sue my dad so we could eat." Anyway, I've moved in with Aunt Lindsey. She's letting me have her room and she's sleeping on the couch. The baby's kicking. _

* * *

_May 3, 2004_

_Dear Diary,_

_I've just begun to realize that I can't do this. I'm going to have to find another family for the baby. I can't write the a-word. I can't write it or say it or even think it. But I'm starting to realize that that's what I'm going to have to do._

* * *

_May 7, 2004_

_Dear Diary,_

_I went back to that psychic today. I'm almost too embarrassed to write about it. But considering how things are going, I'm just so desperate for some answers. He took my hands in his. He knew that Thomas left me, but that was probably just a lucky guess. Then he started putting on this show for me, breathing really loudly with his eyes squeezed closed. He told me that it was crucial that I raise the baby myself. He said that Thomas won't be involved with its life or my life. Then he told me that danger surrounds my baby and I have to keep it to protect it. I told him that I was going to give it up for adoption. I've just realized, writing this, that I didn't mention adoption until after he said that. His exact words were, "There can be no happy life for this child without you." I just got up and left. He actually gave me my money back, and he kept saying that the baby needs my protection. It really kind of freaked me out. But I realize that that's how he makes his money. He probably wanted to scare me into coming back again and again and again._

* * *

She lay in bed in the dark. Two pillows were under her stomach, and she listened to rain batter the windows_. _Outside, she heard a car park and heard its door open and shut. Someone pounded on the front door.

Claire heard Lindsey go to the door and heard a man's voice. "Can I come in?" he asked, and his speech was drunken and slurred.

Claire pushed herself onto the edge of the bed and stood up. She looked at the bedroom door.

"I have every right to see her! She's _my_ daughter!"

"No," Lindsey said, "you don't have a right, just get out -"

The front door banged open and hit the wall. "Get out!" Lindsey screamed. "Get out of my house!"

"What the hell is wrong with you!"

It was a strange woman's voice. Claire walked across the room and back again.

"Don't you ever come back here!" Lindsey screamed, and the front door slammed shut.

Claire stepped into the living room. "Is he gone?" she asked.

Lindsey nodded.

"What was he doing here?"

"I don't know," she said. "He was drunk..."

"Who was that woman with him?"

"I don't know. Another one of his whores."

Claire looked at a framed picture of her mother on the wall and felt the baby kick.

* * *

_September 1, 2004 _

_Richard Malkin called me again, in the middle of the night. Maybe he should start calling himself a psycho instead of a psychic. He actually told me that "great harm would befall me" if I didn't do everything he said. I told him that I'm going to see Adoptive Services tomorrow, and then I hung up._

* * *

The ceiling was high. The table was polished and reflected the overhead chandelier. The shelves along each wall were lined with law books.

She sat in a chair. The lawyer was at the head of the table. Arlene and Joseph Stewart sat across from her.

"Arlene and Joseph will bring you to Melbourne. They'll pay your living and medical expenses."

"We found you an apartment," Arlene said. "It's a really nice two-bedroom place."

"Once the baby is born and handed over to the Stewarts, you'll have no right to see the child again. You'll have no right to correspond with the child. It will be entirely up to Arlene and Joseph to decide whether to tell the child anything about you. Understood?"

"Yes," Claire said.

"Upon your discharge from the hospital, you'll be given an additional payment of twenty thousand dollars."

She looked across the table. "I just want to make sure that you're going to take really good care of the baby."

"Of course," Arlene said, holding Joseph's hand. "Of course we will."

The lawyer slid a sheet of paper and a pen across the table. "Now," he said, "I'll need you to sign and date here, where indicated."

She picked up the pen. "Do you know, uh...'Catch a Falling Star'?" she asked. "It's a song, like a lullaby."

"The Perry Como song," Arlene said.

"My dad used to sing it to me when I was little." Her eyes filled with tears. "Do you think you could sing it to the baby once in a while?"

"Of course," Arlene said.

Claire looked down at the sheet of paper. She read their names silently to herself. Arlene and Joseph Stewart. What would they call the baby? Jane Stewart? William Stewart? Her vision blurred as tears came to her eyes. _Ar n o a_

She kept her hand from shaking and began to sign her name. The pen didn't write.

"It's not working," she said.

He passed her another pen. It wouldn't write. Arlene scrambled for her purse and found another one. Claire took it out of her hand.

"I'm sorry," she said, pushing herself to her feet. "I can't do this."

"What?" Arlene gasped. "No, no -"

Claire walked out of the room.

* * *

She knocked on the door. Richard Malkin pulled it open. "Okay," she said, "what's your offer?"

"Come in," he said. She walked past him into the house and he shut the door behind them.

"I've found a couple in Los Angeles," he said. "They're very eager to adopt. Now, I've foreseen -"

"You've fore_seen_," she laughed. "I don't even know why I'm here -"

"I know this sounds ridiculous," he interrupted. "But this is what _must_ happen."

"So you're giving me six thousand dollars to give my baby to a couple of strangers in -"

"Los Angeles," he said. "And they're _not_ strangers. They're _good_ people."

"Why Los Angeles? There isn't one couple in Australia -"

"It _has_ to be Los Angeles," he said. "And it has to be this flight."

He walked to a table and picked up an Oceanic Airlines ticket. "Flight 815."

"You already bought the ticket."

"I knew you'd come back."

"That's where I was conceived," she said quietly. "Los Angeles."

He looked surprised.

_They're not strangers_, he had said. Los Angeles, of all the cities in the world. Maybe they really weren't strangers.

She stuck the ticket into her purse.

* * *

_September 21, 2004_

_Dear Diary, _

_Well, I'm all packed for L.A. Lindsey thinks I'm crazy and has told me so several times now. I called the doctor and she said the flight would probably be all right. I've just realized that the baby won't be Australian. Australia will be a foreign country to him (or her), and she (or he) will talk like a Yank. I'm going to visit Mum tonight, and then tomorrow, it's off to California._

* * *

The walls were painted pink and her mother's bed was of dark varnished wood. Claire put down her purse. "Now who turned the telly off?" she asked. "Don't they know how much you love your nature shows?"

She clicked on the telly and turned the volume up louder than her mother's machine. "That's better," she said.

"So how are you today, Mum?" She straightened her quilt. "Did you have an okay night?"

The monitor beeped, and she heard voices in the hall. "There's, um, something I have to tell you," she said. "Something I should have told you a long time ago."

She looked at her mother's closed eyes. "I'm pregnant," she said. "I'm...I'm giving it away. It's for the best. I wish..."

All the years of her life passed through her mind. "I don't know how you did it," she said. "Raising me alone...that must have been _so_ hard. And I was just awful. So horrible to you."

She sat down and couldn't help crying. "I'm so sorry, Mum," she said. "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry for all the awful things I said to you in the car. It was all my fault. Everything." She gasped for breath. "I'm so sorry, Mum. I'm so sorry."

She walked to the sink and pulled a handful of Kleenex out of the box. She wiped her eyes and blew her nose.

"Well, I've got to go," she said, looking at the bed. She picked up her purse and held her stomach. "I'll see you soon, okay?" She felt the baby kick and left the room.


End file.
